


Comforting grey

by Eosine



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark Smut, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, POV Peeta Mellark, Stolen Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28981527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eosine/pseuds/Eosine
Summary: Throughout all of this our intimacy is our way of returning to each other; anchoring and reminding ourselves of where we belong. And while we both know deep down that we’ll never truly be rid of our need to check out of reality occasionally, we find our own ways of showing each other why we should never stay gone too long
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Comforting grey

The sound of rain pattering against cold glass gently ushers me out of an indigo infused depth. A cool breeze whispers gently in my ear and strokes over my hair, making me bury my face deeper into the indistinguishable mass of warmth by my side. It’s an amorphic haze of ebony hair perpetually scented by renegade droplets of pine sap, of soft downy pillows that in my semi-conscious state feels like warm clouds, of the languid flow of inhales and exhales sounding almost in tune with the waves of rain outside, of the slightly salty taste of the soft patch of skin under her jaw where I wake with my lips already having sought out her beating pulse in my sleep. 

Opening my eyes I am greeted with the sight of her long neck gracefully arched; with her face turned away I can just make out the curve of her lips which always somehow seemed rosier and fuller when she slept. She is laying on her back, our legs helplessly entangled. The comforting grey light of an overcast dawn gently settles over her cheekbones, the soft lobe of her ear, the strong curve of her jaw. It catches the fine, almost invisible hairs on the edge of her hairline, which despite her darker complexion and hair she inherited from her father, are the pale blonde of her mother. I lift my fingers to hover mere atoms over her cheek, trying in vain to match the gentleness of the light’s caress on her skin. Her breath hitches. 

I shift slightly to see her face, wondering if I disturbed her. It’s often around this time of the dawn that she would be woken by one of her more agonizing nightmares. Perhaps it was more the sense of this oncoming than the rain itself that has woken me, as sure enough, I can see a frown carve its way between her brows and her eyes start to rove under her velvety lids. Her breathing starts to lose its rhythmic flow. I feel her muscles tensing, twitching. 

I lift her body slightly to shift myself half underneath her, pulling myself flush against her back. I slide one arm under her waist and bring my hand to rest between her breasts, over her sternum vibrating with her increasingly erratic heartbeat. I press soft kisses to her temple, her jaw, to her ear.

“Come back to me Katniss,” I whisper.

A whimper catches in her throat and her legs start shifting. I croon gentle nonsense in her ear, hoping the hushed murmur of my voice and the vibration against her back will persuade her into consciousness gently, rather than her usual wrenching jolt. My free hand runs up and down in a soothing arch between her ribs and her hip, over the smooth planes of her stomach, the irresistible dip between her hipbone and her sex. But I can tell she is still trapped in the undertow, random spasms shivering through her muscles as though a creature from her nightmare were taunting her with a cattle prod. 

A murmuring starts on her lips, random words decipherable only due to my familiarity with the visions that plague her. Her face spasms into an expression of fear. “Peeta…” 

“I’m here. Wake up my love,” I gently suck on the sensitive skin under her ear. “It’s just a nightmare. Come back,” 

I shift my hand from her sternum to cover her breast, skimming my fingers over the delicate skin of her nipple, a gesture that never fails to elicit a hushed gasp and a shift of her hips, apparently even in her sleep. 

On my next soothing circuit of her abdomen, I slide my hand down to cover her heated center, my fingers placing featherlight strokes over her warm folds. 

We both long ago abandoned any pretense of reticence in regards to sleeping attire, making moments likes these far more...convenient. And if we’re being honest well then simply just far more. There was a vibration that seemed to be ever-present at the contact of our bare skin that drew a near alchemical reaction from our bodies and made the concept of restraint seem like the worst kind of folly and insult to instinct.  
We both had the habit of drifting far away, our minds and hearts pulled into insidious darkness by memory, by poison, by an unyielding instinct to preserve what is left of our sanity. We don’t try to stop each other any more, allowing one another all the distance or space or darkness or madness needed to release or revel in our ghosts. Sometimes it’s a matter of hours, sometimes days. It’s just who we are; we understand and don’t require explanation or justification from each other. But nightmares are a different story. Our dark episodes may be a necessity, but the horror of the nightly visions are not. We have both experienced enough terror in our short lives and when it’s in my power to do something to help her avoid the pain and panic then naturally there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do.  
Throughout all of this our intimacy is our way of returning to each other; anchoring and reminding ourselves of where we belong. And while we both know deep down that we’ll never truly be rid of our need to check out of reality occasionally, we find our own ways of showing each other why we should never stay gone too long. 

Her body jerks again. I raise my fingers from her dampening core to run deep circles over her bundle of nerves and lift her arm around my neck giving me access to capture her taught breast with my mouth, gently grazing her hardened nipple between my teeth, circling and flicking it with my tongue. This time her gasp escapes her parted lips and I feel her pushing herself against my hand, moving her hips back and forth. I can feel her pulling herself back to me, towards my touch and away from the dark visions. I double my efforts with my fingers, running tantalizing caresses around her mound, her thighs, her hips, occasionally brushing her clit with a passing stroke, all motions I know to send her into familiar states of wild need. I hear a soft moan release above me. Without releasing her breast from my mouth I raise my eyes to her face. She’s looking at me, eyes hooded with sleep, pupils so expanded with desire that her steel eyes appear black. A blush has unfurled over her cheeks and the tip of her nose, I track it’s spread down her neck to her chest and I swear I feel my lips tingle with its heat as it makes its way over her breasts. A groan echoes from somewhere deep and feral in my chest.

This blush is always my undoing. I am wholly unable to control my desire when I see it. It’s something about the visibility of her life force, the sight of her coursing spirit.  
It’s an image so pure and yet so entirely erotic, that I often find myself torn between needing to simultaneously protect her and ravish her. This usually culminates in a lovemaking of an almost predatory reverence in nature. But not always. Sometimes the desire to consume her as fully as I can takes over any sense of tenderness. During the colder months when she comes home from her hunting trips with her face whipped into this blush by the icy wind I am not ashamed to admit that we rarely make it to our bed before we are emitting sounds reserved only for each other's ears and elicited only by each other’s touch. 

She releases just such a sound as I dip my fingers into her soaking center, teasing at her entrance. Her eyes fixate on my face and her perfect lips part as she pants out her desire. She moves her arm from around my neck, releasing my hold on her breast, and reaches behind her for my long since aching erection. I capture her lips in mine and moan into her mouth as she settles me between her thighs, the viscosity of her desire coating my cock, and this alone is almost too much. I rub myself against her lips evoking entirely different spasms to shiver through her limbs. We stare into each other's eyes, her look of open desire and vulnerability pull so viscerally on my being that I feel the weight of it imprinted on my soul. 

I rub myself against her entrance and her clit, teasing her until I can feel her climax nearing, her hands fisting in my hair, her motions becoming erratic. My hands run over the soft skin of her stomach, her hips, her incredibly soft breasts, touching her wherever I can, drinking her in, and infusing her with myself. When I have her on the edge of the precipice I shift and bury myself into her heated core. She releases a sound of such painful satisfaction onto my lips that I feel myself throb inside her. She reaches behind her and grabs my hip, her strong fingers digging into the flesh of my backside to hold me deep within her. I can feel her walls shivering and spasming around me as she produces moans that anyone who didn’t intimately know the sounds of her pleasure would take as ones of distress. 

My name falls from her lips as hers does from mine, solidifying our existence into the atoms around us. My fingers dig into her hips and at the feel of her orgasm around me, all sense of self-control leaves my mind. I feel the need to possess her, to be possessed by her. I roll her onto her stomach and stretch out on top of her raising her arms above her head and lacing my fingers through hers in a position I know always sends her into new echelons of pleasure. She loves the feel of being utterly surrounded by me. I brush her long hair over her shoulder and run my tongue up her neck, tasting, teasing, consuming the essence of her, and losing myself in the overwhelming sense of us. She raises her hips slightly, I moan and sink my teeth into her shoulder as I slide deeper into her depth. I pull out slowly until my tip is just encircled by her entrance and thrust back in with such force I can feel the bed shift beneath us. Again. Again. I feel her moans reverberating at the base of my spine and feel the wave preparing to break. She’s still so tight around me from her earlier release that when I begin to grind my hip into her in circular motions and bring my hand down to the juncture of our joining bodies to caress her oversensitive flesh I immediately feel her second wave constricting around me as if her body were conspiring to lock us together in perpetuity and finally make our physical union as indelible and undeniable as our spiritual. I last only a few moments beyond that, bringing my face down next to hers to breathe my release against her lips as well as inside her molten core. I throb almost painfully inside her and I can feel the vibration of her appreciative sigh against my whole torso still flattened against her arching back. My mind checks out in the most pleasant of ways, unable to form a single coherent thought, only primally registering certain senses like warmth, and breath, and soft red and comforting grey.

We lay just like this, just breathing and looking at each other. I’m in no hurry to move, knowing she takes great comfort in the feel of my weight on top of her; even if it means slightly constricted breathing for a minute, this is one of those intimate positions she needs sometimes to feel grounded, and she’ll signal when it’s enough. It doesn’t always involve sex either, sometime when she feels slightly adrift she’ll wedge her way under me or pull me on top of her and we’ll just lay and breath. It was another example of her showing her true strength through allowing herself to be utterly vulnerable, but just with me. There are aspects of our lives where she needs me to be dominant, she needs to be able to relinquish some of her ironclad control, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t something I both enjoy and need, too. Katniss, my fiercely independent other half, allowed me to fill in her missing parts, as she did mine. It never fails to make me feel like I need to increase the molecules that I consist of just to be able to contain the volume of emotion and love I have for her. 

She draws in a breath and sighs beneath me, my signal to shift and lay beside her. I pull her leg over my hip and rest my forehead against hers, closing my eyes as she strokes the hair growing long on the back of my neck. 

“Hi,” She whispers gently beside me.

I can feel myself drifting back into that indigo depth, bone numbingly content, but my lips twitch and I manage to murmur a soft “Hi,” in return before I slip away, but this time I take her hand and pull her with me.


End file.
